


Aftermath

by UltimateFandomTrash



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, allusions towards rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 22:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: After Sam and Dean get wind of a massacre at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital they contact Chris Argent, a hunter they heard was living in the area, to get more information. When he isn't forthcoming they go to Beacon Hills themselves to see what's going on.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> There's no action in this. I just really wanted to focus on the emotional aftermath of season3 3B of _Teen Wolf_.

“Oh my god,” Sam exclaimed quietly, frowning as he continued reading the article he had open on his laptop.

He and Dean had just finished up a case in Sun Valley, Nevada involving a black dog. There’d been no word from Kevin yet about the Second Trial, so they just decided to work. Dean had been packing, ready to go back to the bunker, but Sam had been searching for any other cases they could get involved in before they headed back. Well, really he’d started the research when he couldn’t sleep because his body had been aching, keeping him awake. That, and in the middle of the night his sleep-deprived brain had forgotten that he and Dean had a homebase now. Sam still hadn’t gotten used to it, and he was jealous that his brother had seemed to settle in so easily.

“What?” Dean asked, looking over to him from where he stood by the bed.

“You ever hear of Beacon Hills, California?” Sam asked.

“No. Should I have?”

“There was a massacre there yesterday at a hospital.”

Dean sighed. “Sam, I get that that sucks, but unless it’s something involving the supernatural, we don’t need to get involved.”

“I think it might be our kind of thing though. It just doesn’t make sense. It seems like the massacre was led by a teenage boy. The article doesn’t identify him though, _but_ the journalist does suspect that he’s also responsible for a shrapnel bomb going off in the sheriff’s station not too long ago.”

“Sam, there is a such thing as homegrown terrorists, you know.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I get that, but something just feels off here.”

Realizing he’d need more information to convince Dean, Sam started typing away at his laptop. Searching _Beacon Hills_ brought up a bunch of news articles of weird and just downright freaky events: strangely feral humans running around in the woods at night, animal attacks that took place in the middle of the town or at the local high school, a “lizard-like man” running amok, disappearances, a long string of murders that had happened a few months ago, destructive weather, and there’d been a town-wide power outage supposedly caused by some freak accident.

“Dude, this definitely seems like our kind of thing.”

His brother came over, putting one hand on the back of his chair, the other on the table, and he leaned over to peer at his laptop screen.

He let out a low whistle.

“That town’s a mess,” he commented. “My god, how has a hunter not gotten their ass over there?”

“Maybe they have,” Sam responded with a shrug.

“Uh huh,” Dean answered skeptically.

Sam wracked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever heard of a hunter going there. Then it came to him.

“You ever hear of the Argents?” he asked. “I think Bobby mentioned them a time or two.

“Isn’t _argent_ the French word for silver?” Dean questioned.

Sam looked back at him, a small smile on his face. He knew Dean was smart, but he was always pleasantly surprised by the random bits of information he seemed to know.

“Yeah, but they’re also a family of hunters. I think they moved there not that long ago.”

“Okay, so then they suck at their jobs,” Dean said as he went over to the bag he’d left on his bed to continue packing.

“Or maybe not. That seems like a hell of a lot to deal with.”

“What, and the apocalypse wasn’t?”

Sam threw him one of his bitch faces. “What I’m saying is most hunters aren’t equipped for dealing with so much at once, and they don’t have an angel on their side.”

Dean suddenly got very still, and he purposefully turned his head away, hiding his face. Sam felt a twinge of guilt in his chest and then worry for his friend crowded in around it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered. “If Cas wants to ignore us and keep us out of the loop then that’s his business.”

“Dean-”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” he nearly snarled out, causing Sam to wince sympathetically. “Just start packing. We’re heading for Beacon Hills.”

 

Chris Argent was in the basement of the apartment building he lived in, packing up his weapons when his phone started ringing.

He put one of Allison’s bows - which he’d take off the wall to disassemble - down on the table in the center of the room, and he eyed his phone with discontent.

Argent really wasn’t in the mood for talking to anyone unless he absolutely had to. The past couple of days had worn on him, and he just wanted to leave Beacon Hills, forget about all the pain it’d caused him. His throat ached as grief tried to snare its claws in him. When he’d first come to this town his family had been alive, and now, his sister was dead, his wife was dead, his daughter…

A frustrated growl left him and he answered the phone; its ringing had started to get annoying.

Chris didn’t speak, wanting whoever had called him to say something first.

“Is this Chris Argent?” a gruff voice asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name is Dean Winchester,” the man replied. “I’m a hunter.”

“Look, I don’t care what you’re hunting, or whatever you might need help with. I’m busy. Try calling someone else.”

“Mr. Argent, would you just-”

Dean was cut off and he heard a few exclamations of some sort. Then there was a new voice on the phone. “We heard about the massacre at the hospital and we were wondering if you needed help.”

“You’re a little late for that.”

An image filled his mind, of a teenage boy crying over his twin brother’s dead body. And then it flashed to another dark place, of Scott holding Allison, a stab wound through her stomach. But he didn’t hold anything against Stiles. It wasn’t his fault the nogitsune had possessed him. None of the chaos and destruction had been his fault, but still, anger burned in him irrationally as he thought of him.

“Did you kill the thing that did it?”

“No. It’s been trapped. Permanently.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he breathed out. “Now leave me alone.”

With that he hung up and placed his phone back down with a weary sigh. His eyes landed on Allison’s bow, and that grief tried taking hold of him again. And this time it tried to drown him.

Chris fell to his knees, a sob crawling up out of his throat. He held his face in his hands and he cried.

 

“You really think it’s been taken of?” Dean asked, taking his eyes off the road to spare his brother a glance.

“If Argent says so.”

“Hey, did he sound a little off to you?”

“Yeah, Dean, he did. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he just finished cleaning up a mess in his own freakin’ hometown.”

“Jeez, I was just asking.”

“Sorry.”

“You all good?” Dean asked. “You’ve been kinda short-tempered today. Usually that’s my job.”

“Yeah, just didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“So you still think we should check this town out?”

“Definitely. Maybe whatever led the massacre has been taken care of, but that town seems to be crawling with monsters, almost like it’s a beacon.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, and Sam gave him a confused look. “Beacon Hills, beacon - come on, that’s not funny?”

His brother cracked a smile. “Okay, it’s a little funny. Now eyes on the road, you idiot,” he told him affectionately. “We actually want to get there in one piece.”

Dean turned his attention back to the road, which was thankfully not too busy. Sam was right about getting there in one piece. Besides, he was curious to find out what had happened.

 

The sun beaming through Stiles’ window woke him up, and he stretched, a yawn leaving him. He was glad his body didn’t hurt anymore, but then he remembered why that was. Sure, it was great that the nogitsune was trapped, but a shiver ran through him as he remembered watching what looked like his own body, his own face, crack and disintegrate. 

There was a knock on his door, and then Scott entered. He was no longer in his pajamas, and he held a brown paper bag in one hand that smelled suspiciously of fried food.

He smiled at him. “Great, you’re up.”

Stiles sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“1:32.”

“I slept all morning?”

Scott sat on the edge of his bed. “After what you’ve been through these past few weeks, I’d say you earned it.” He passed him the bag, “Here, I got you some lunch.”

Stiles tore into the bag excitedly, taking out a burger and some fries. At the moment he didn’t care if he got crumbs all over his bed.

“Oh thank god, I’m starving.”

He set a few napkins down in his lap as a makeshift placemat, and then started unwrapping the burger.

“You get anything for yourself?” he asked, once he’d had a few bites.

Scott shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

A pang of guilt stabbed through his stomach and up through his chest, making his own appetite disappear. But he forced himself to take another bite, not wanting Scott to worry about him.

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He knew that there wasn’t really anything he could say. Losing his mom had taught him that all that “I’m sorry for your loss” crap that everyone always told someone who was grieving didn’t matter. It didn’t take away the pain, it didn’t bring the person back, it didn’t make things better.

But he did feel like he had to apologize. He remembered watching Allison get stabbed with the katana, her blood splattering the wall behind her. In fact, Stiles felt like he had to apologize to everyone: Agent McCall, Deputy Parrish, Deaton, Argent, Melissa, Coach, Ethan, Malia, Kira, Isaac, Derek, his Dad, Scott, Lydia… Oh god, poor Lydia. He didn’t remember all of the things Void had done once he’d literally kicked him out of his own body, but there were bits and pieces. He’d hurt Lydia somehow, of that he was sure.

Stiles placed his half-eaten burger down and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Scott,” he began, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

His friend wiped at the corners of his eyes with his thumb and shook his head sadly. He sniffled. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. None of it’s your fault.”

Right now Stiles knew it’d be a bad idea to argue with him, so he just continued eating, his food no longer tasting so good.

“Where’s my Dad?” he asked, trying to break the poignant silence.

“At the station,” Scott answered. “He came in to check on you before he left.”

“Hey, thanks for staying the night,” Stiles said. “I… I wasn’t ready to be alone.”

“Me either.”

They didn’t say anything else as Stiles finished up his food, but luckily Scott had it in him to steal a few of his fries. After that his friend grabbed his trash and left to throw it away, and he shut his door again, giving him some privacy to get dressed.

He had difficulty picking out what to wear. The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t find anything that looked good together. No, that wasn’t it. It was the fact that most of the clothes he looked through had been worn by Void. By the time Scott came back he still wasn’t dressed, and he had a pile of clothes in the corner of his room.

“What’s all that?” Scott asked.

“My stuff that the nogitsune wore. I’m thinking of getting rid of it. Too many reminders.”

Scott nodded in understanding.

“Now go,” Stiles said, shooing him out with his hands. “I still gotta get dressed.”

Scott managed to smile and he backed out, letting Stiles close the door again.

“Just don’t take too long,” he called to him. “I was thinking we could go check up on Lydia.”

Stiles’ head shot up, both excitement, guilt, and sadness coalescing in him. It was a confusing mix.

“Lydia?”

“Yeah, don’t you want to see her?”

“Y-yeah… Definitely!” he responded, forcing the excitement he felt into his tone, pushing aside the other emotions.

Scott laughed, probably happy that he seemed to be getting back to normal.

 

Once he was dressed in some jeans and a t-shirt that he’d found in the bottom of his bureau, Stiles and Scott climbed into his jeep. He started it up, but then he paused as he was about to pull out of the driveway.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott asked, noticing his hesitation.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me? I mean, I’m the reason Aiden’s dead, I’m the reason Allison’s…” he paused, unable to go on. And then he veered away from the topic of Allison’s death, “And Void, h-he did something to her. I don’t know what, it’s just flashes. She was screaming, Scott… and crying. And I remember that he was hungry.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, but it’s all in my head. It… it won’t _leave_.”

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles going white.

“Just take a deep breath, okay? This is Lydia we’re talking about. I’m pretty sure she can tell the difference between a dark spirit and one of her best friends.”

Stiles attempted to do as Scott said, and his exhale was shaky. It did nothing to lessen the anxiety clenching his stomach.

“You can do this.”

He wasn’t sure he believed those words, so he said them for himself, “I can do this.” Somehow that put a little burst of confidence in him, and he repeated in a louder tone. “I can do this.”

He pulled out of the driveway, and then they were on their way to see Lydia. Her house was a little farther away, in the richer part of Beacon Hills, and they had to pass through part of the town to get there. 

An old, black car drove past them. Stiles didn’t know a ton about cars, but it sure as hell looked cool. Scott turned his head to watch it go by, seeming impressed.

“Dude, did you see that car?” he asked excitedly.

“Uh, yeah! That thing looked awesome.”

Then Scott frowned. “Huh… I haven’t seen it around before.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Yeah, probably nothing.”

Once they got to Lydia’s house Stiles and Scott stood outside the door for a couple minutes.

“You sure you want to be the one to knock?” Scott asked. “I can do it for you.”

“No, no, I can do it.”

He raised his hand, his fingers clenched in a fist, but he still didn’t knock.

“Stiles, you have to actually put your hand to the door.”

“Y-you mean like this?” he questioned, a teasing tone in his voice, as he gently placed his hand against the door.

Scott rolled his eyes affectionately. “This is ridiculous.”

And then he raised his hand to knock.

Stiles pushed him aside.

“I want to do it!”

“Then do it!”

“Fine, I will do it.”

Just as he worked up the courage to do so, the door opened, showing Lydia Martin. She was wearing sweatpants and a sweater, and her strawberry blonde hair was up in a messy bun. It didn’t seem like she had any makeup on, and her eyes were a little red.

Stiles and Scott gaped at her in shock from her seemingly sudden appearance.

“Well,” she started, “are you just going to stand out there all afternoon, or do you want to come in?”

“Uh, we’ll come in,” Stiles answered.

She opened the door wider and stepped aside, letting them walk in.

“Is anyone else home?” Scott questioned, looking around.

Lydia turned her head away, swallowing roughly. “No. I’m… I’m all alone.”

And then she went over to Scott and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Scott looked to Stiles, a little taken aback, but he reciprocated. And then Lydia pulled back, giving him her attention. Lydia’s body seemed tense against his and Stiles slowly wrapped his arms around her. She shivered a little, but then she relaxed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she told them once she finished hugging him.

Stiles was pleased when she still had an arm wrapped around his waist, and he pulled her against his side.

They stood there in silence for a bit, and then Lydia said, “I wish Allison was here.” 

A sob left her and she buried her head against Stiles’ shirt.

“Yeah, me too,” Scott agreed quietly.

Stiles turned his head away, not able to look at either of his best friends. He felt the same pain they did, the same grief, like there was a part of him that was missing that he’d never get back, but it still felt like his fault. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that it wasn’t his fault, didn’t matter how many times Scott told him. It still felt like it. And it hurt so much that he found himself crying too. Scott’s arms were soon around him and Lydia, and he heard quiet sobs coming from him.

Minutes passed and the three of them held each other and cried till they had no more tears left. Even though Stiles had woken up in the afternoon, he realized that this was going to be a long day.

 

After getting to Beacon Hills and getting a room at a motel that was on the outskirts of town, Sam and Dean went to go see Argent. Dean knocked on the door outside of his apartment building. When he didn’t immediately open the door he asked, “How’d you get his address again?”

“He’s a weapons dealer as well as a hunter,” Sam explained, “so people need to know where to find him.”

“So you just looked him up online?”

“I looked him up online.”

The door opened and they were greeted by the barrel of a silver pistol. The man who held it was middle-aged with short, brown hair and a short beard. His eyes were a striking blue-gray.

“Sam, Dean,” he intoned. “I told you to leave me alone.”

They both backed up, raising their hands. Argent left his apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Okay, so he knows who we are,” Dean said to Sam quietly.

“You did your research, I did mine. And how are you even here? You both have a death report from over a year ago.”

“That wasn’t us,” Sam answered.

“Look, I don’t want trouble,” Argent said, “but if you threaten the people in this town then I swear to I will get involved.”

“Threaten?” Dean asked, now making it so Argent pointed the gun at him. His brother didn’t seem at all fazed by having a loaded weapon in his face. “We’re here to help.”

“Like I said, it’s been taken care of, so maybe you should just leave.”

“Yeah, maybe you took care of one thing,” Sam began, “but this town seems to have a serious werewolf problem.”

And now the gun was pointed at him, which did in fact make Sam a little nervous, but he didn’t show it.

“You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Like hell we don’t!” Dean exclaimed. “There’ve been countless deaths and disappearance. I get that this is your town, but, buddy, it seems like you need a little help. And seriously, you mind lowering the gun? We’re not here to hurt you.”

A sigh left the other hunter and he lowered the gun, sliding the safety back on. He put it in the waistband of his pants.

“Fine, you really want to know what the situation over here is?” Sam and Dean both nodded. “Then talk to Scott McCall. If you tell him I sent you there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“A problem?” Sam questioned. “Why would there be a problem?”

“Scott doesn’t really like people like you, or me for that matter. It took awhile for either of us to realize we were fighting for the same cause.”

“So he’s a hunter?”

Argent laughed, but it didn’t hold any humor. “He’s something.”

After giving them an address they’d be able to find Scott at, Argent turned his back on them and went into his apartment again.

“Now, would you leave? I’m busy.”

Dean asked, “Busy with what?”

“Making funeral arrangements for my daughter.”

With that he closed the door with more force than was necessary. Sam widened his eyes and let out a breath.

“Wow.” He turned to Dean. “Do you think bothering him was a bad idea?”

His brother shrugged and started walking towards the elevator. “Probably, but now we know who to talk to. Come on.”

 

Grief is something everyone has to deal with at least once in their life, but the universality of it doesn’t make it any easier. On the contrary, everyone grieves a little differently even though it all hurts the same. There was that yearning to have that person by your side again, to look at them and see them smile, to know they were okay. But they weren’t okay, and they were never coming back.

With Scott, he’d go for a few minutes thinking he was fine, that he could get through this, that maybe it didn’t hurt as bad as he thought it did, but then it’d hit him, like someone punching his chest. Allison was dead. He’d never get to hear her voice again, hold her close, smell her, hear her heart beating. Maye one of the worst things about holding her as she died was that he’d heard her heart stop beating, heard her life leave her, felt it as her muscles went limp.

The memory came up again to haunt him as he unlocked the door to his house, but he forced his way through it. He was the alpha. He had to be strong for his pack. It was Lydia’s request that they hang out at his place, and Scott didn’t mind. He preferred to have friends around him right now.

Lydia took a seat on the couch in his living room, and Scott was going to do the same, but he heard something. A rumbling, purring engine. Neither of his friends had reacted to the sound, so it still wasn’t within human hearing yet. Maybe it was nothing.

He took a seat beside Lydia, and Stiles started pacing around, tapping his hands on his thighs. Scott could smell the heavy scent of anxiety coming off of him. 

“Stiles, you want to sit down?” Lydia asked, moving to the side so that he’d have room to sit in between her and Scott.

He shook his head. “No, no, I’m good.”

The rumbling got louder, closer. It was coming from the street outside his house. Lydia and Stiles turned their heads to the window. The sound cut off.

Stiles went over and pulled the curtain back.

“Hey, Scott, you know that really cool car we saw earlier? Well the guys who own it are here. And, oh, lovely, they brought guns.”

Scott was up in a second, pulling Stiles away from the window. “Get down.”

Lydia hurriedly joined them where they were crouched down on the floor, and Stiles put a protective arm around her. After making sure his friends couldn’t be seen through any of the windows, Scott took in a deep breath, and focused his senses.

The two men outside were talking.

“Do you think this Scott guy can really help us?” one of them asked.

The other man spoke, his voice slightly higher. “Argent said he could.”

“Yeah, but we don’t even know Argent. What if he’s not that reliable? Hell, he doesn’t even seem like he’s good at his job.”

“Dean, forget Argent, okay? We’re just gonna talk to Scott and see what’s what.”

There was a loud knock on the door, and Stiles and Lydia flinched a little.

“Great,” Stiles muttered. “Just great.”

The anxiety coming off of Stiles had strengthened, and when Scott looked to him he was surprised he wasn’t shaking.

“Maybe if we don’t answer,” Scott whispered. “They’ll leave.”

The knock sounded again. “Scott McCall!” one of the men called.

“Scott McCall, Argent sent us. We just wanna talk to you.”

“Or not,” Stiles intoned.

Scott got to his feet.

“Dude, dude, what are you doing?”

“They said they just wanna talk.”

“Because all people who want to talk bring guns with them,” Lydia said.

“I’ll be fine,” Scott assured them. “I promise.”

His worry about what these men could want tried to hold him back, but his curiosity was stronger, so he went and answered the door. The two men towered over him, and pounds of muscle were packed together underneath their extra large flannel shirts. But Scott wasn’t intimidated. He was an alpha, and these two seemed human.

“Is Scott here?” the taller one asked, shaking his nearly shoulder length hair out of his face. He was the one with the higher voice (although it was still supremely low), so that meant the slightly shorter one with the green eyes was Dean.

“I’m Scott,” he responded.

Dean and the other man turned to each other, their furrowed brows speaking of their confusion.

“Y-you’re Scott?” Dean asked. “But you’re just a kid.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And?”

Dean blinked a couple of times, and then introduced himself, “I’m Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam.”

Sam took a hand out of his dark blue canvas jacket to wave at him, giving him a smile. 

“Argent sent us to come talk to you,” Sam informed him.

“About?”

“Look, are you sure you’re Scott?” Dean asked him.

“Says so on his birth certificate,” Stiles responded as he came to stand beside him. “Hey, I’m Stiles.”

Scott shot him a look that basically asked him what he was doing. Stiles understood it, but he didn’t leave his side.

“Then how are you involved with hunters and this werewolf stuff?”

Figuring that these men clearly knew about the supernatural Scott showed them his eyes, and the world turned red.

“Whoa!” Dean exclaimed, taking a step back and nearly falling down the steps on his porch.

In a second he had a gun out, and Sam did too. Scott froze up.

“Oh my god!” Stiles exclaimed, hurriedly raising his hands. “Why the hell are you pointing guns at us? Scott, they’re pointing guns at us.”

“I can see that, Stiles,” he growled out.

“So you’re a werewolf,” Sam stated. “And you?” he asked, addressing Stiles.

 

Lydia walked up to them now, responding, “He’s human.”

Scott gave her a worried look. “Don’t you two have any self preservation instincts?” he asked his friends.

“After getting possessed by an evil spirit, not really,” Stiles answered.

“And the voices aren’t telling me anyone’s going to die, so…” She finished with a shrug.

Scott brought his eyes back to their natural dark brown, and the world filled in with color again. But the guns were still pointed at them. It didn’t escape his notice that Dean now had his gun pointed directly at Stiles. Scott stepped in front of his friend.

“You were possessed?” Dean asked over him.

“Yeah. Not fun.”

“Believe me,” Sam said, “I know. And what are you?” he asked Lydia.

“A banshee.”

“You don’t look like a banshee.”

She gave them an icy smile. “And you don’t look like gun-wielding maniacs who’d shoot teenagers.”

That made the Winchesters lower their weapons, but they didn’t put them away just yet.

“So a werewolf, a banshee, and a human who was recently possessed,” Dean summed up. “Okay, so any idea why Argent said we should come talk to you?”

“I’m guessing you want to find out what’s up with this town?” Scott asked. “You wouldn’t be the first hunter.” The two brothers still looked wary, so Scott added, “I’m not going to hurt you. If you came to talk, we’ll talk.”

Sam put his gun away, and Dean gave him a questioning look. “What? The banshee’s right. Are we really gonna kill teenagers?”

Stiles lowered his hands and Scott relaxed his body.

“The banshee has a name you know,” Lydia informed them.

“Okay, what is it?” Dean asked, uncomfortably lowering his gun.

She gave them a smile. “Lydia.”

“Fine, Lydia, Stiles, Scott, may we come in?”

Stiles raised his hand. “I vote no.”

“Could you give us a second?” Scott asked. Both brothers nodded their assent, so Scott herded his friends back inside and closed the door.

“Look, if they say they’re here to talk, then we have nothing to worry about.”

“But did you see the way they reacted when you showed them your eyes?” Stiles pointed out. “They’re hunters, Scott. _Hunters_. Who hunt!”

He’d been wildly gesturing with his hands, so Lydia grabbed one of his forearms, and his friend relaxed a little.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he admitted. “What if they hurt you? Or you?” he added, addressing Lydia.

“I think I can handle them,” Scott told him.

“Okay, but what if they hurt me?”

“Why would they hurt you?” Lydia asked quietly.

“I don’t know, maybe ‘cause as of yesterday there was still an evil spirit running around looking like me!”

“But we trapped him,” Scott assured him. “And you’re not possessed anymore.”

Stiles hung his head. “I know, I know. It’s just… What if they don’t believe that? Besides, maybe I deserve for them to just take me out.”

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed. “You can’t think like that.”

“Whatever. I do, okay?”

 

After Scott shut the door behind him Sam and Dean began to talk about what to do.

“So… do we… do we kill them?” Sam asked.

Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line, and then finally put his gun away. “No. If they were dangerous surely they’d have attacked us already. I think they do just want to talk.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, and Dean watched his brother start heading back to the Impala, going to the trunk.

“What are you getting?” Dean asked him.

He called back. “Holy water. I just want to make sure that kid Stiles isn’t possessed anymore. For all we know, the demon could be tricking them.”

“Good idea.”

Sam rifled through the trunk and came back with the silver flask they kept their holy water in. He tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

“So you want to be subtle about testing him?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “I was kinda planning on just splashing it in his face. It gets the job done.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, got it.”

The door opened again, and Scott led them into his house. They walked through a living room, and then all took seats around the wooden table in the dining room. Scott sat at the head of the table, with Sam on his right, and Lydia was sitting across from his brother. Since Stiles was directly across from Dean, he tapped his brother’s leg under the table. Understanding what he meant, he discreetly passed the flask of holy water to him.

Stiles was looking down at the table, and there were slight vibrations traveling through the floor and up the wood, letting Dean know that he was bouncing his legs nervously.

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Dean quickly undid the top of the flask and then tossed the holy water on Stiles. Stiles sputtered and stood, wiping at his face. But that was the only reaction they got. There was no burning, no demonic anger.

“What the...?” He wiped some of the water from his eyes and glared at them. “What was that for?!”

“Precautions,” Sam answered calmly. “We wanted to make sure you weren’t possessed anymore.”

“So you threw water on me?!”

“Holy water,” Dean specified.

“Great, well now I’m all wet, so thanks for that.”

He grumbled something under his breath as he went over to the kitchen, presumably to grab a towel. Dean put the cover back on the flask and then handed it to Sam again.

“Was that really necessary?” Scott questioned, his tone suggesting that he was getting a little angry.

“It was,” Dean informed him.

Stiles came back over, still wiping his face with a kitchen towel, and he sat himself down in his chair with a frustrated huff.

“Okay, so you got splashing me with holy water out of the way,” he started, “what do you want to talk about?”

“We want to know the situation with the supernatural creatures in this town,” Sam started. “Who they are, what they are, what happened yesterday with the hospital, that sort of stuff.”

“Well,” Lydia said, clasping her hands together in front of her, “this is gonna be a long story.”

 

Lydia let Scott do most of the talking. He was the pack leader after all, and she didn’t really mind. Her thoughts were taking her down a dark road. Back to Aiden’s death, back to Allison’s death, back to Void hurting her. She glanced over at Stiles, and her pulse quickened ever so slightly. She took in a deep breath, taking in his features. He wasn’t sickly pale like Void had been, and there wasn’t red around his eyes, or dark circles, and there wasn’t darkness in him, not like there had been with the nogitsune. This was Stiles, and Stiles wouldn’t hurt her.

Though she knew that the memories of Void pressing her up against the bars, his lips grazing over her skin, still remained. And then he’d lifted up her dress…

She shook her head slightly, accidently gaining the attention of everyone in the room. The conversation stopped, and her stomach clenched with anxiety for having all those eyes on her, especially since she didn’t know the two men who sat across from her.

Scott leaned over to her and asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

She felt something wet on her face and she wiped it away. Lydia looked down at her fingers. Oh, she was crying again. That’s what had gotten their attention. She was just glad she’d forgone putting on makeup today.

Stiles’ hand was on her shoulder, and she tensed slightly, trying to stop herself from jumping out of her seat.

“Lydia, do you need some time alone?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

Scott gave her a disbelieving look, and when she turned her head to Stiles, he was giving her the same face.

“Really, guys, there’s nothing wrong. I’m okay.”

Sam cleared his throat, getting their attention. His cheeks were a little pink, most likely due to embarrassment from seeing something that was maybe a little more private.

“So, you don’t kill people,” he clarified.

“No. Definitely not,” Scott answered emphatically. “We protect people. All those killings and disappearances, that wasn’t us. In fact, the number of deaths in this town would be a lot higher if we hadn’t stepped in.”

Dean nodded his head in understanding. “Okay, so what, that’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” Scott asked.

“I mean, no action? Nothing to kill, no demons to exorcise?” If anything Dean seemed disappointed when he said this, his green eyes no longer holding a flicker of excitement.

Lydia was going to say something, but Stiles spoke first, his voice a little too emotionless for him, suggesting he was trying to keep himself under control, “Look, we already told you, the nogitsune’s been trapped. It can’t hurt anyone else. So I’m sorry to be the buzzkill here, but there’s nothing that you need to do, nothing to shoot at, nothing to stab, or whatever else it is you do. So why don’t you just get out of my friend’s house and leave us be.”

Lydia was shocked by Stiles’ harsh words, and apparently so was Scott because he exclaimed, “Stiles!”

“What? They’re hunters. Maybe it’d be better if they weren’t here.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stiles, we’ve been over this. We’re not here to kill you, or Lydia, or Scott. We-”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Were you expecting someone?” Sam asked.

Scott shook his head.

Dean stood, taking his gun back out again, and Lydia noticed that he clicked the hammer back on the safety.

“Stay here. Sam and I will check it out.”

Lydia, Scott, and Stiles were about to protest, but the brothers had left the room already.

The door opened and they heard Kira’s voice. “Oh, um… Hello. I was just looking for Scott.”

“And what are you?” Dean asked.

“A kitsune.”

“Great, it’s a party. Come on in.”

A few seconds later and Sam and Dean were leading Kira back into the kitchen. She looked around and upon seeing that the only seat available was at the other head of the table, where she’d be sitting next to Dean, she remained standing by Scott.

“Hey,” he greeted, rising to hug her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check up on you.” Then she whispered to him, and Lydia only picked it up because she was closer to them, “Who are these people?”

“Hunters,” Scott answered. “It’s okay. They won’t hurt us.”

Dean asked Scott, “Any more of your friends showing up?”

“Nope. This is most of them.”

“For now,” Stiles added.

Scott gave him a questioning look. “What?”

“You still have to meet Malia.”

“She’s a werecoyote,” Lydia explained to the Winchesters.

“A werecoyote,” Sam repeated. “Wow, you’ve certainly got a lot going on over here.”

“Yeah, so, I hate to kick you out-”

“I don’t,” Stiles interrupted.

“-but I think right now it’d be good for you to just go.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. But we’ll be sticking around for a bit in case anything else crazy happens.” 

Sam took out a card from the pocket of his jacket, and passed it to Lydia. “Here are our numbers. Call us if you need anything.”

Lydia took the card, and part of her, the more emotional part that was still overwhelmed from everything she’d been few in the past few days, just wanted to crumple it up and throw it away. But she didn’t, and she forced a friendly smile onto her face as Sam and Dean departed.

“Is now a bad time?” Kira questioned, anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“No, of course not,” Scott answered. “Why don’t we go to the living room?” he suggested. “Sitting here makes me feel like we’re planning something.”

Scott and Kira left the room first, and as Lydia was about to do so, Stiles grabbed her arm. Her breath hitched for a just a second, but then she was able to relax.

_It’s just Stiles._

“Hey, can I have that card?” he asked.

“But I thought you didn’t like them.”

He shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I want to talk to Sam about something.”

“Yeah, okay.” She gave him the card as she told him, “You can talk to me too, you know. I don’t… I don’t hate you for anything Void did.”

Stiles gave her a genuine smile that made a comforting warmth spread throughout her chest, clashing against all the pain she harbored.

“I know,” he told her, “but I feel like Sam might get what I’m going through. It’s something he mentioned earlier.”

She nodded in understanding. “Alright. Whatever helps you.”

“Thanks.”

He pocketed the card with the Winchester brothers’ phone numbers, and then Lydia tugged him over to the living room.

 

That night Stiles sat on his bed, his cellphone in one hand, and the card with Sam’s number in the other.

“You can do this, Stiles,” he told himself. “You’re just gonna talk to him. Maybe he can help.”

He tapped his phone against his leg, his nerves making him feel jumpy.

And then he unlocked his phone screen and hurriedly dialed in the number before he could lose his confidence.

Sam picked up almost immediately. “Sam Winchester speaking.”

“Hey, Sam, this is Stiles.”

“Stiles, is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah… well, not really. Can we meet up tomorrow morning. I kinda need to talk to you about something.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Wait, tomorrow’s a Monday. Don’t you have school?”

“I’m not going,” he told him. Stiles felt like he had to explain, and his next words nearly stuck in his throat, “My friend’s funeral is tomorrow.”

“Oh…”

“So could we meet before then? I know a place where we can get coffee.”

“Sure. Just give me the address and the time.”

Stiles gave him the information, and after a goodbye, he hung up. Now he just had to get a good night’s sleep. That wasn’t going to be easy. He figured it’d be a while before he no longer had nightmares of what the nogitsune had done.

 

Sam showed up at the coffeeshop early, making sure to pick a seat where he could watch all the entrances. It was a small place decorated in natural, earthy tones. He hadn’t had breakfast before leaving, so he’d also gotten a donut along with his double-shot of espresso. Sam usually wasn’t one for eating junk food, not if he could choose not to, but he was completing the freakin’ Trials to close the gates of Hell. If anyone deserved a donut, he did. He ate as he waited for Stiles, and when he was halfway done with his breakfast, he showed up, dressed in a black tux with a black bow tie to match. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept well either.

He nodded at Sam as he entered, and then went up to the counter to order some coffee. A minute or two later he sat down across from him, placing his drink down on the table.

Stiles clenched and unclenched the hand he had around his cup, and the other one drummed at the table. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” Sam questioned, realizing that Stiles wasn’t going to open up to him unless prompted to do so.

He gazed out the window as he answered, watching as someone walked by with a large, fluffy dog, “The nogitsune.”

“Do you think it’s still around?” Sam asked.

Stiles shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. “No. Nothing like that.” He let out a breath and then met his gaze. “Yesterday, you mentioned that you’ve been possessed before.”

“I have,” Sam confirmed.

Stiles looked down at the table, and swallowed roughly. “How do you deal with it?”

Then it hit Sam just how young Stiles was. He hadn’t even finished high school, he was going to his friend’s funeral today, and he was just getting his life back to normal after being possessed. A teenage boy had been possessed, and Sam felt so terrible that he hadn’t been here to try and stop it from happening. 

He knew from experience that possession was difficult to deal with. It was terrifying knowing that someone else was in your head, that you weren’t the one in control of your own body. And maybe the worst part of it was watching, unable to do anything, as the entity that had taken control of you hurt and killed innocent people, went after the ones you loved.

“The girl they’re burying today,” Stiles went on, “her name was Allison. She was my friend. She was one of my best friends. And she’s dead because the nogitsune had her killed. And I remember him doing it. I don’t even know if going to her funeral is a good idea for me. I know my friends don’t hate me, but… but _I_ hate me. I hate myself.”

Sam reached across the table and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Tears dripped down onto the sleeves of Stiles’ black suit jacket.

“Don’t hate yourself,” he told him. “It’s not your fault. Nothing the nogitsune did is your fault. That was all him.”

Stiles looked up, blinking tears from his eyes. “But he used my body, he used my life force. He… This isn’t even my original body. He kicked me out of it like I was nothing. I don’t… I don’t wanna be nothing.”

“Stiles, I can tell your friends care about you. You’re not nothing to them.”

He shook his head sadly and sucked on his bottom lip. After he sniffled and wiped his face with a hand he asked, “How do you keep going, after something like that? How do you get your life back to normal?”

Sam smiled sadly, taking his hand off Stiles’ shoulder, and now it was his turn to look down at the table. Was there a getting back to normal after that? He didn’t think so. After Meg had possessed him he’d felt tainted, and he felt even worse after Lucifer. Sam still carried that with him, that darkness, that pain.

“You don’t get your life back to normal,” he answered honestly, looking into Stiles’ sad, amber-colored eyes. “But you try to surround yourself with people that care about you. You have that.”

Sam almost added that he seemed to have it more than he did. Sure he had Dean, but his brother didn’t understand. After being possessed by Meg he’d punched him, he’d joked. And he’d never once made it seem like he was going to be able to talk to him about Lucifer. So Sam kept it all buried. Or he tried to. Seeing Stiles, seeing him hurt, was just bringing it all up, and his throat started feeling very tight.

“Sometimes you won’t feel guilty everyday,” Sam explained, “and sometimes it’ll beat you up and make it hard to even get out of bed, but you push through it. I know that now it hurts, and it hurts every goddamn second, but it won’t always be like that. You’re gonna get better, and in time you’ll even find yourself able to smile again, real, genuine smiles. You’re gonna be able to laugh again, to enjoy things. This is just something that happened to you, but it doesn’t have to rule you forever. You decide whether you let that happen. It’s your life, Stiles. It’s not the nogitsune’s, it’s not anyone else’s. It’s yours. You got that?”

He nodded, the tense set of his jaw speaking of conviction.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I… I needed that. My friends are great, but they don’t really get it. Whenever I try to bring it up, they just assure me it wasn’t my fault.” He paused, as if he was mulling over something, and then he questioned, “Um… do you mind me asking, when were you possessed?”

“Once three years ago, and then the first time was two years before that.”

Stiles’ head shot up, and his face was stricken with awe. “Wait, you’ve been possessed _twice_? Dude, how are you even here?”

Sam shrugged. “Some days I ask myself the same thing.”

“Wow, so you… you _really_ get it.”

Sam nodded, and then took a bite of his donut, washing it down with a sip of espresso. After he swallowed an itch started up in his lungs, traveling up through his throat. It was one he’d grown familiar with since he he’d completed the First Trial. He quickly excused himself and then rushed to the bathroom.

Sam got over a sink just before he started coughing, his body heaving violently. It made his chest and his diaphragm ache, and the muscles all around his lungs didn’t really like working overtime. He coughed up blood, more than he had since this had started, and he just stared at the red in the sink with wide eyes.

_What’s happening to me?_

With a shaking hand he turned on the faucet, rinsing the blood down the drain and then he cupped his hands under the water and splashed some on his face. He started coughing again, more blood coming up, and he groaned quietly, more from horror and despair than from the pain. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like he could tell Dean about it. Dean shouldn’t have to worry about what he was going through. And besides, it didn’t matter. This was for the greater good. If that included him sacrificing himself along the way, then so be it.

Sam dried his face and hands and then went back out. Stiles had composed himself a little more, and he caught him eyeing his donut.

“You want me to get you something to eat?” Sam asked him.

Stiles gave him a nervous smile. “Could you? I didn’t think I’d be hungry, but that donut looks pretty good.”

Sam smiled at him, and then took him up to the counter so he could pay for whatever Stiles ordered. Once he got himself a chocolate donut they sat down again. They talked as they finished eating, though Stiles did most of the talking. Sam didn’t mind. He’d just been through a lot. It was probably good for him to get all this off his chest.

When they finished up, Stiles looked out the window again, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not ready to go to her funeral,” Stiles admitted. “Allison should be _alive_ , she should…” He trailed off, looking down at the table again.

“Hey, you made it this far already,” Sam said. “You can make it through today, and the next day, and the one after that. You’ll keep going. I know you will.”

Stiles gave him a small, grateful smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so. Now go, you don’t want to be late.”

Stiles got up from his seat, and made his way to the door, but just as he opened it he turned back to Sam. “Hey, thanks. For everything.”

“Glad I could help.”

With that Stiles left, and Sam watched him go. Even though there wasn’t any hunting that needed to be done, Sam was still glad he and Dean had decided to come here. Their job wasn’t just about killing things. It was about helping people along the way, the ones who had been hurt, who would have nightmares, who’d gotten caught in the crossfire. And he hoped that he’d been able to help Stiles. The aftermath of what he and his friends had been through wasn’t over, but maybe now he’d be better equipped for dealing with it, for living with those memories of being possessed. This little town wasn’t something big like the Trials, but to Sam, it sure felt just as important.


End file.
